Two Strangers (On a Bench in the Rain)

it's raining. the rain is light and sparse, but the droplets are thick, and when they plink on the ground they splash. it's a pretty, early spring rain. puddles collect in the divots in the concrete. the streets become slick. the trees drink their fill. it's a warm rain. it's falling from a purely white sky. 

there are two strangers sitting on a park bench. the first raises an umbrella to shield his perfectly coiffed hair. he wears a long overcoat and a big silver watch on his left wrist. he checks the time. 

the other stranger is looking up. he has a hat, but it's in his hands. the rain falls onto his face, rolls down the sides of his cheeks, and drips onto his neck. there’s a big, stupid smile on his face. he’s sighing, and rocking back and forth. “ahhhh,” like that. 

the man in the overcoat looks over and is slightly annoyed by this behavior. he peeks out from underneath his umbrella to see whatever this weird man next to him is looking at. he sees nothing but cloudy white sky.

he wants to say, ‘could you please sigh a bit quieter? there’s nothing up there!’

but he feels awkward just being so blunt. he thinks if he can get the man talking he’ll stop sighing. so he clears his throat, and offers his umbrella. 

“are you alright in the rain? i do not mind sharing.” 

the other stranger just smiles, shakes his head and says, 

“no thanks! i’m alright, thank you for offering though.” he sighs again, “ahhhhhhh.”  

there is silence between them. the rain drips from the greening tree leaves into the grass. it glistens on the blades. the first stranger checks his watch. he wants to say, “could you please cut that out?” but that would be very rude, and he knows better. it’s really bothering him, and there are no other benches. he tries again. 

“terrible weather we’re having.” he says. 

the sighing stranger doesn’t quite hear him. he cranes his neck out to listen. “huh?”

he repeats, louder this time, 

“i said terrible weather we’re having!” 

“oh the rain?” says the sighing stranger. “its nice today! i missed rain.” and he closes his eyes and rocks his head back to the sky, sighing “ahhhhhh!” 

the man in the overcoat wants to shout, “oh my god could you please stop doing that, please?” but instead he says, 

“it rains a lot up here. are you from down south?” 

“i’ve lived here my whole life! i own the mattress store on 34th.”

and the sighing mattress man turns his whole body to look at his benchmate. he looks him up and down ....and then it hits him.

“and you’re the anchor on channel nine, aren’t you? 

“...i am.” he replies. the news anchor is very confused now. “ i’m sorry, have you been away?”

“mhm.” he says, as though he can hardly believe it himself. “I was dead.”

he pauses.

“i went in my sleep i guess.” the mattress man goes on to explain. “y’know, it feels like its been a year for me, but I checked the calendar and i’ve only been gone a day!” 

the news anchor thinks he either misheard, or the man next to him is completely crazy. he wants to say, “yeah good one buddy. how stupid do you think i am??” but instead he just nods and says, “uhm!” 

he looks down into his lap. he checks his watch. a single drop of rain has splashed onto the surface. he cant help asking,

“what was it like?”

and the mattress man wants to say, it was love, it was God, it was a thousand lilies and mist forever, that for the first time he could be without a body, that he traveled as pure light and saw the infinite, that he had no worries, no wants, just love and love- but he thinks that might be oversharing. plus, his words wont do it justice. he feels there is no language for what he’s seen. so instead he just says, 

“it was wonderful.” 

now, the news anchor wants to ask more questions, this could be the story of the century! but he’s also not convinced that the mattress man is sane. still he asks,

“how are you here now?” 

and the mattress man says, 

“i just asked for a second chance.”

he says it so nonchalantly. like his story makes any sense. but the news anchor decides to accept the absurdity of the situation so he can get to what’s really bothering him. he wants to ask, why would anyone ever want to come back to this place? he would not describe the world as ‘wonderful’ and would rather be someplace that is. he wants to ask if the mattress man has kids or a family he has to take care of, if he’s staying out of a sense of obligation. but he realizes that might be invasive, so instead he just asks, 

“why?” 

before the mattress man can answer, the wind starts to whistle through the daytime. it blows the rain into the two strangers’ faces. the news anchor’s umbrella cannot shield all of him, but he tries in vain to keep himself dry. he closes his eyes against the wind’s wailing. 

his chest begins to burn, overwhelmed with sudden anger about the state of things. the world, his life, his mind. 

with his skin taught from botox, wearing a 3000 dollar suit, 

he sits in front of a camera everynight and tells the world how ruined it is.

that’s his job! 

a lump of grief gathers in his throat. 

he feels so small, so insignificant. 

he cant stop the ice from melting, or stop the tectonic plates from quaking, or lift the smog that hangs over the city.

he can’t stop war, he can’t stop hunger, microplastics, gas stoves. 

he’s just one person, completely, helplessly, complicit in everything horrible. 

just one person, cursed to be a thing that feels. 

there is so much to mourn and not enough time to mourn it all. 

he feels so sad, and that no one can comfort him. 

he’s afraid of the future that he’s doomed to walk into. 

crushed, crushed, crushed, 

by the horror of time, 

the horror, 

the terror, 

the terror of everything! 

and here, beside him, on this bench in the rain, is a man who asked for a second chance. a man who chose to come back. the news anchor just doesn’t understand. 

when the wind stops, the mattress man opens his eyes, and turns his face to the white sky. 

“i missed rain,” he says. 

“i missed looking at the moon.

i missed the stale air of my mattress store. 

i want to drink chai tea again.

i want to take an afternoon nap.

i want to pet my dog, and lay on the floor. 

i want it all back.

i want to feel the crunch of a leaf under my foot again. 

i was sorry i never stopped to admire the inventiveness of rubber stoppers for the legs of chairs. truly. 

i wanted to see another white sky,

another day.”

the mattress man stands, and stretches. the rain is slowing. the clouds are beginning to break apart. they can see patches of blue and silver linings. 

“i’m going to walk in this park for a while. then i’m going to the grocery store. i want to get one of those little chocolates they sell at the checkout, but first i’m going to look at all the fruits and breads. and then, ahhhhhhh, i think i’ll take a long shower.

he turns back to the news anchor, who’s still sitting on the bench. 

“never again, will I forget the miracle of being here.” 

and the news anchor watches as the mattress man’s silhouette thins into the distance.there is a man who tasted the wonders of the universe! who saw the marvels of the glorious infinite! yet still, yearned for the simple comforts of human life back home, he wants to take a shower.  the news anchor lowers his umbrella, though the rain hasn’t quite stopped. he wishes he had admired the sky while it was completely white. next time. for an instant, he remembers the threat of rising tides, but then, he remembers hugs from his wife. he remembers that sweet opening crack of a soda can. 

he remembers all the good he hasn’t counted. maybe he’s gone mad, or he’s dreaming, 

he checks his watch.

he knows it doesn’t matter anyway. 

and the news anchor turns his face to the the sky,

he tastes the warm, sweet summer air, the sunlight, the rain,

he listens to the birdsong, the bicycles rolling down the street,

he rocks back and forth to the rhythm of it all. 

he understands.

he throws his head back, 

he smiles,

he sighs,

“ahhhhhh.”